Then There Were Two
Hawkeye stood very still, feeling his father's cold hand curl around his own. He ventured a look up at his dad's face, relieved to see that he wasn't crying. Hawkeye wasn't either. He had promised himself he'd wait until he got back home, to the privacy of his room, before the tears would fall.
He shifted his gaze back to the hole in the ground and the coffin being lowered into it. The day was so cold and windy. His hands were so cold. Even the one that his dad was holding felt much too cold.
His breath hitched a couple times, but he held his composure. He wanted to be strong for his dad. Together they would get through this.
A part of him refused to believe that that was his mom being put into the ground. It wasn't all that long ago that she was healthy and happy, laughing with him and his dad, rolling her eyes at his father's bad puns. She was a fun mom, Hawkeye had always thought. She wasn't as naturally funny as his dad was, but she enjoyed Daniel's sense of humor. She always had a sparkle in her eyes when she'd watch her husband telling one of his stories.
Hawkeye blinked a few times. No tears, he told himself again… strong for dad.
The minister was saying something about ashes to ashes and dust to dust. Hawkeye didn't quite comprehend it, but the tone of the man's voice drove home the grim reality.
Hawkeye understood that this was forever, that death was final. He wasn't a baby, he knew that.
But… maybe God could make an exception just this once and send her back to him?
And oh damn, now the tears were coming. He didn't mean for that to happen, but they were falling down his face now and he couldn't stop them. He wiped at his cheeks with the sleeve of his coat.
His father must've noticed, because he gave Hawkeye's hand a squeeze.
Finally, finally, the minister was done talking and the coffin was all the way down in the cold ground and Hawkeye felt a kind of relief. At least this part was over. He didn't know how much longer his legs were going to hold him up.
He again looked up at his dad, who nodded. "It's over, son. We can go," he said, his voice thick.
Hawkeye nodded back and let himself be led by the hand out of the cemetery. His dad walked slowly, as if he were lugging along the world's heaviest suitcase instead of his 10-year-old son. A freezing drizzle started to fall just as they reached the car.
Hawkeye got settled into the passenger side, realizing this was where he'd sit forever now—no more backseat for him. He watched as his dad got into the driver's side, closed the door, and then just sat there in silence for a long moment. His expression was dazed. Hawkeye had no idea what to say to him. Usually he could think of things to say, in just about any kind of situation, but today he was discovering that he didn't have words for everything.
Just when Hawkeye was beginning to get uncomfortable, wondering if there was something terribly wrong with his pop, the old man turned and looked him in the eye. "It's just you and me now, kiddo," he said.
"I know, Dad," Hawkeye replied, putting on a brave face. Then, suddenly certain he had a comforting thought to offer, he added, "We'll be OK as long as we stick together."
His instinct was right; it'd been a good thing to say. His father's face transformed into a smile, despite the tears lingering in his eyes. "Yeah," he said softly, reaching over to ruffle his son's hair. "We sure will."